A Poet's Journey by Manivillie Kanagasabapathy

abuse

“Unseen Darkness” is one of my favourite pieces and most powerful collaborations. It
provided me with an opportunity to work with the talented at artist, Thiviyaa Sehasothy of Art by Thiviyaa, and Dilani Bala, Photographer extraordinaire. But as in the true nature of collabs, this piece extended past the three of us, and has a story of many admirable people/women.
Below I want to share my story, as that is the one I can speak to.

Where does this story begin?… In many different places, with many different people.

It began with a post about VAW shared across three Instagram channels.

It began when Thiviyaa created a beautiful piece from the (just as soul speaking) work of Dilani.

It began with a phone call to Thiviyaa, asking if she would want to create a piece for this poem.

It began when Abuse Never Becomes Us (ANBU) asked me if I had a photo to accompany the poem. I said, “Not yet, but there is only one person I want to ask.”

It began with ANBU, who reached out to me to share a piece for their March 2017 Newsletter.

It began with the stellar performance of my friend Sathya Thillainathan, who told Anbu about my poetry after she performed at their launch event.

Deep Brown eyes stare back at me,
Fleeting whispers floating between us,
Shadows creep silently,
Across broad brown shoulders,
The darkness melding within the chocolate hues,
Lengthening to point accusingly,
At the faded bruise
That still held faint outlines of his hand.

“Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
I hear the teacher’s voice whisper
Behind
In front
Avoiding.

My eyes jump back up,
Shamed to be caught,
Starting at the dark eyes,
That hid darker shadows.

“I’m fine, I fell”
I watched her rouge tipped lips open in reply,Tasting the words,
Rolling them around her tongue
Until they fit,
Like words spoken
In love
In faith
In truth

“Should I call a doctor?”
The persistent voice asked again,
Concern and patronization moving together
To create a melody of the question,

“No really I am fine, I fell.”
Stronger, this time
The eyes lit with the flame of memory,
Recreated to a story to be told over and over,
Each time more real than the last.

AN: Sometimes the title is the hardest part of writing, I am still not sure if this is right, or if it should be The Lies We Tell Ourselves (sometimes I way too obsessive over one word, but other times I realize that is what makes me love writing – each word).